Sometimes We Dream
by twopossiblethings
Summary: Even Mormon missionaries have dreams, sometimes. McPriceley.
1. Chapter 1

**Eight Years Ago**

Eight long years ago Connor McKinley kissed his mother on the cheek and settled down into his cowboy themed bedding. Mrs. McKinley pulled the covers up around his shoulders and left the room with a sweetly whispered "Goodnight, darling." His prayers were prayed and teeth brushed. He had school in the morning and Steve was going to teach him how to make fart noises with his armpit at recess. Connor didn't much like fart noises but Steve wanted to teach him and how could he say no to his best friend in the whole wide world?

His eyes drifted shut, thoughts of Steve and math homework in his head. Then he and Steve were on a raft all Huckleberry Finn style. The seas were calm and an island floated not too far away. From the raft Connor could see the ice cream parlor and the giant roller coaster and the dinosaurs. A couple of cowboys chased each other along the beach, laughter and gun smoke on the cool island breeze.

Steve was smiling at him and leaning back on his elbows. His swimmy trunks had sharks on them, those were his favorites the ones his mother refused to buy him that one time. Connor's had stars on them.

"Let's go swimming!" Then splash, they were in the water dunking each other and looking for mermaid treasure. Connor was treading like he learned in gym class when Steve got all close behind him. The red head tensed, expecting Steve to grab his shoulders and sink him beneath the waves.

He didn't sink him. His hand slid over the wet skin of Connor's shoulders the way he'd seen his father do to his mother that time at the beach. And then something even stranger happened. Lips. On his neck. Was Steve about to bite him like those vampires? What if Steve was actually a vampire and he was going to drain Connor of blood and leave him dead, or worse?

No needle teeth sank into him. Steve just left his mouth there, at the juncture of Connor's neck and shoulder, warm and wet and kind of nice feeling. He wasn't wearing trunks anymore. Neither was Connor. Then his hands sneaking around Connor's waist all tickle-y. Then-

Connor woke up hot and sticky and shamed. It happened, that thing they warned about at church. That thing where boys his age sort of stopped being boys and had to be men, dreaming about ladies in dirty ways that were sort of natural because that's where babies come from.

He crept into the bathroom down the hall from his bedroom. His father snored in the next room. He hadn't woken anyone with his dream. Connor grabbed a wash cloth and wetted it, wiping away all traces of his dream. He held it for a moment and then tossed it out the window. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want his mother to find the cloth.

Connor hadn't dreamed about any ladies. Connor dreamed about Steve Blade, his bestest friend in the whole world. Not his babysitter, like Ryan had. Not Steve's pretty older sister Sarah. Steve. They hadn't talked about dirty dream like his the day they told him that babies didn't come from a factory in China. He would have to ask his father.

Mind set, Connor let his eyes close once more. He started to dream again, back in the water with Steve. Only, some things had changed.

The sky was a bloody red, the same color of his father's steak at dinner, but it wasn't sunset. The noon-sun beat down on his head from directly above. The sea water was getting hot and bubbling. His skin ached.

"Steve? Steve, what's going on?" Connor reached his hand back, desperately seeking some solace in the unusual landscape. The hand he found lacked any familiarity. He felt wiry hairs and leathery skin and fingers tipped with claws. He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to know.

But slowly, surely his head moved against his will. His eyes were wide with terror. The hand in his hand belonged to a creature so terrible and frightening that even years later Connor couldn't describe it to his therapist.

He woke with an earth shattering scream that roused his father and sent his mother into a blind panic. She clutched him to her breast like they did in the movies. His father paced as Connor described the two dreams. When he was done, the man sat in front of his wife and child, taking their hands in his.

"Connor, you mustn't think like that. You had a nightmare because you were sinning. Thinking about a boy like that is wrong, it's against Heavenly Father's will. That's why He punished you with that dream. Because you're not normal."

The next day, Connor avoided Steve at recess. When the other boy cornered him, Connor could only mumble that he didn't want to be friends anymore and that Steve was no longer welcome at his house or his lunch table. Connor sat alone every day. Steve would look at him and shake his head, turning to Ryan and making fart noises with his armpits to the enjoyment of his new table.

That summer, Connor McKinley went to camp like he'd always wanted to. He played with the other children, the children like him. He read the Bible and the Book of Mormon and prayed with them. He learned the phrase that changed his whole life, three little words. He learned to turn it off.

Until, eight years later, a fresh faced Kevin Price got off the bus in Uganda for his two year mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Fourteen Years Ago

Kevin was awesome. Kevin was special. Everybody liked Kevin, especially the grown ups. They told him he was precious and sweet and they liked him better than some of the other kids, that's for sure. That's how he knew, even at the tender age of five, that he was going to grow up to be incredible. He liked their attention and he liked sitting on his Momma's lap while his Dad patted his head and his Grammy fed him cookies. Kevin liked to play with his older sister and feel his newest sibling kicking from inside his mother.

The grown ups at church loved him too, they told him that h was blessed. He knew scripture better than any of the other kids in his religion class. He strove like no other to be at the top, in school and at home. But it was in the hallowed halls of the church that he found his niche. Always used as an example of how to behave, Kevin flourished and his ego consumed a steady flow of compliments.

The only black spot in Kevin's life was his brother, Jack. He was four and feisty and he didn't like Kevin very much at all. While in the sight of grown ups, Kevin was a model older brother. But once they turned their heads, he ignored the little one and pushed him away. He didn't like the way Jack clung to him and tried to copy him. He didn't like the look his Momma had in her eyes when they brought the little snot bucket home from the hospital. One day, fourteen years ago, the slowly brewing storm came to a head.

That night, Kevin tossed and turned in his trundle bed for hours before he sat up and kicked the blankets off his legs. His stomach knawed at him, regretfully empty of any dessert. None of the Price children had managed to earn the home made doughnuts from their grandma all thanks to Jack. The little jerk had ratted them all out for taking the broccoli off their plates and slipping it to the dog under the table, which was totally not a sin! And now Kevin was dying.

He rubbed his tummy through his cowboy pajamas. He needed a doughnut. He would die without it. If Jack hadn't gone and told on them. He could hear the other child snoring peacefully across the room. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't having a nightmare. At least _he_ felt better.

Then, Kevin got an idea. A wonderful, perfect, harmless idea. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and touched his toes to the floor. The tiniest squeak wafted through the night air. He paused and then stood in one quick motion. There was no noise, his siblings slept on.

Step by quiet step, Kevin made his way past his parents room and down the stairs to the kitchen. He climbed into his normal chair at the table and reached for the box of doughnuts his grandma had left there only a few hours before. He lifted the top of the box. Heaven, in the form of fried pastry and maple flavored icing, was within reach.

Kevin brought the snack to his lips and let out a small noise of pleasure. Grammy always made the best stuff, the best cakes and cookies and Kevin loved it more than almost anything. He devoured it quickly and was about to pick up a second when he heard a clatter behind him.

Jack, teddy bear in hand, stood in the doorway with his sippy cup at his feet. Juice leaked slowly from the lid. The brothers froze, suspended in the moment of oportunity. Kevin was the first to break it.

"Don't you-" He was cut off by Jack yelling at the top of his little lungs for Mom and Dad. Kevin lunged from his perch on the chair, slapping a sticky hand over his younger brother's mouth. They fell over, grappling on the floor until Mr. Price's booming voice ended the scuffle.

"KEVIN. JACK. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" The big, imposing man stood with his hands on his hips. Mrs. Price stood with her arms crossed behind him, her gaze zeroing in on her two sons.

The boys scrambled to their feet, both trying their best to look contrite.

"Kevin. What happened?" And there it was. That moment of no gravity where the entire world hung in the balance and Kevin was in complete control. The power rushed through his veins, he was giddy with it.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. I heard something. I came downstairs. Jack was eating the doughnut. I tried to stop him. But he ate it. I told him it was a sin. He got real mad at me. I'm sorry, I should have stopped him."

Later that night, after Jack got the scolding of his life and Kevin got a doughnut for being such a good son, he lay on the cusp of sleep. His stomach was full and he wouldn't have to deal with his younger brother for the next fourteen days. He could sleep soundly.

Only when he closed his eyes, he wasn't playing on the beach with Mickey and the cowboys on his jammies. He was hot and sweaty and his feet hurt and there were bad things everywhere. Doughnuts with faces glaring at him. The broccoli from dinner was throwing bits of itself at him. The most horrible creature stood above him, laughing. It's eyes burned and horns spiraled out of it's forehead. Kevin screamed.

And woke up screaming. And he screamed. Until his Momma burst in and craddled him to her chest. Terror shut his mouth, he wouldn't speak of it. He held on tight and prayed to Heavenly Father. He never told his parents what he dreamed of that night. He never confessed. But from inside his mothers arms, Kevin could see Jack and his eyes condemned him.


	3. Chapter 3

Four Years Ago

Connor McKinley had the same dream every night for four years. Though he grew and his hair became as red as his mothers and he made it through middle school and his first year of high school unscathed, his dream remained the same. He was fifteen by day, but every night he returned to his eleven year old body to suffer at the hands of unspeakable demons.

He adapted. Kept water and crackers by his bed to fight the nausea he felt every morning. He learned not to need sleep, to stay up into the wee hours of the morning so he only had to endure an hour or two of Hell. He repeated the mantra he learned that summer before bed, hoping that maybe it would assuage Heavenly Father even for a single night. It never did.

Connor tried to blend it. He went on the occasional date and he did not tell the girls that, no, that purse did not work with those shoes or that their dress was so last season because he did not have stacks of Vogue under his bed. He got the reputation for being the hottest prude at the school, he never kissed any of the girls he went out with but he explained rather patiently that it was against his religion. They believed him. But mostly he stayed home and hid in his room.

With all his free time, Connor worked laboriously on his homework. Under his blankets with his reading light he would write and rewrite his essays until his hand cramped and he was satisfied. His teachers loved him, they spoke highly of him over their cups of coffee in the teacher's lounge and wondered where he found the time to do so much beyond the requirements.

One of Connor's biggest fans was Mr. Flannagan. The young, Irish teacher was fascinated by the ginger who reminded him of his brood of wild brothers. He enjoyed reading Connor's work and liked to push him in class to the point of blotchy red-faced anger after which the professor would ruffle his hair and encourage him to join the debate team. The teenager surprised him and made his second year of teaching a great experience. But Connor worried him. He could recognize the halted nature, the strange blue hiding-light in his eyes. He saw himself, unnerving for every teacher.

Connor liked Mr. Flannagan as well, even though he liked to play the Devil's advocate and his infuriating way of messing with Connor's hair. He liked the attention he got in class, of feeling smarter than the rest of the students and finally being good at something. English was his strongest subject and the glowing comments on his progress reports brought the look of pride back to his father's eyes.

Mr. Flannagan coached the golf team Connor tried out for to appease his father. It was a sport, but it was about aim and strategey and not brawn. But that didn't stop the rest of the boys on the team from teasing him.

"Connor, how's your boyfriend?"

"Hey girlie, Cassie says you didn't even try to make a pass at her. She's so easy, you must be gay."

"Did you see McKinley in English? God, he was all over Mr. Flannagan. What a creep."

That made his face flush and tears stung at his eyes but he kept his head down and worked on his swing. Mr. Flannagan chased the offenders off and told Connor that it was no big deal, that anyone who does as well as he did in class was bound to get that. Then he told a story about his youth in Ireland and how his college professor had to give him an extension on his term paper because he was in love with her and he had to find someone else to distract him or he would fail the class. They laughed and Connor hit his first hole-in-one.

Mr. Flannagan made him feel good, special. Connor liked the way the older man wasn't threatened by the older teachers or his students. Or by the nasty words whispered behind their backs about appropriate teacher-student relationships. Or by Connor himself, who maybe did cling to the older man a little too much and argued with him and refused to do the assignments if he thought they were unworthy of his attention.

It was wonderful, the one place he felt completely safe, until the afternoon his favorite teacher ruined everything.

"Connor. I'm curious." The rest of the class had already filtered out and down to the cafeteria for lunch. Connor pulled out his paper bag lunch, the one his mother made for him with his favorite sandwich, and pulled a chair up to his teacher's desk. He put his shoes up on the table, echoing Mr. Flannagan's usual stance.

" 'Bout what?" He munched on his apple, staring at his teacher.

"Why didn't you do the last paper?"

Connor froze for a moment, then snorted and swallowed. "Because I didn't think it needed to be written."

"Really? I thought it was one you would really enjoy. I had you in mind when I wrote it." Mr. Flannagan watched Connor carefully. The boy paled and looked down.

"For me? Why would you write something so awful for me?"

"Awful? I had no idea you'd feel that way. It's a rather provoking subject, I figured you'd like to argue with me about it. I know how much you love to argue."

Connor took a moment to answer. "Homosexuality is wrong. There's nothing else to say."

Mr. Flannagan sat up, looking concerned. "I don't know where you got that idea, kiddo, but I didn't mean to offend. Just...just so you know there's nothing wrong-"

Connor stood abruptly. "It's against Christs will. There's nothing. Else." Then he left, leaving his lunch on the desk. He never ate lunch with Mr. Flannagan again. He stopped speaking up in class. He went home and told his father he had to quit the golf team because one of the boys was gay and he couldn't be around him. His father was proud.

That night his dream changed for the first time in six years. There was no hot sky, no boiling sea. There was no Steve. There was nothing. Not whiteness or darkness. He couldn't wake up. Sometimes he thought he was trapped in his body forever. Sometimes he didn't think he had a body at all. Connor screamed and screamed and screamed but there was no sound. He was in the void. He wasn't. He was no more. He was there for years.

The crackers didn't help the next morning. He walked through the halls like a zombie. No one made fun of him, no one wanted to face his drained eyes. Mr. Flannagan didn't call on him in class. He accepted the next assignment with no questions. He didn't look Connor in the eye.

Connor McKinley would adapt. Again. He embraced his punishment. Again. He would deal with it like he always had and he would pray to Heavenly Father for it all to end when he knew it wouldn't.

Then he would be sent to Uganda.


	4. Chapter 4

Four months ago

Kevin hated being in Uganda. It was hot, his mission companion was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met, and he had his second Hell Dream. Breaking rule #72 AND drinking coffee AND doubting God even existed really did a number on him. It was the third most horrifying experience of his life. It changed him, permanently.

But at the same time, he loved the way Arnold looked up to him. He still drank coffee. He loved watching the red sun set over the village and that perfect moment between the scorching day and the antarctic night. He loved talking to Elder McKinley.

The mission leader knew exactly what he was going through, though he didn't say too much about his own Hell dreams. He listened and asked Kevin all about the creatures in his dream, he patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and prayed with him.

Then the dreams started coming more and more often, almost every night. He woke alone and scared every day, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. Arnold slept late and snored, no one could see the way he hiccuped for breath or his hands fisted in the thin sheets of his bed. No one could see Super Mormon Elder Price falling apart. He tried so hard to believe, he tried to forgive himself for doubting. He thought he was free.

Connor knew. Connor saw. He saw his own fear in Kevin's face and it pained him. It was clear Kevin was on the slippery road he'd already traveled, although if the confusion in his eyes was anything to go by he didn't realize it yet.

Connor didn't say anything. Kevin cried on his shoulder, broke down and begged Heavenly Father to just let him be. He cursed and broke things and once he even shoved Connor to the floor. But the former district leader never did anything but listen with a pained look on his face.

This arrangement lasted for weeks, with Kevin sitting on the floor in Connor's office while he worked. Sometimes they sat outside to watch the sunrise when they woke before dawn. Other times they watched it set and waited for the moon to rise before heading back to their beds.

They counted stars and talked and bickered. Kevin cried sometimes. Connor never cried and Kevin still admires him for that. He likes to believe it was because Connor was stronger than him, that he was better. But he knows deep down it's because Connor can't cry and wouldn't let himself if he could.

Four months ago, he finally broke.

"I'm sorry." His voice was small. He kept his hands in his lap and refused to look Kevin in the eye.

"Sorry for what?"

"For bringing you into this. Kevin, I know why you're having Hell Dreams and I'm sorry but I can't help you. My mission is ending early."

Kevin can't believe his ears. He doesn't know what to talk about first. That's when he notices the tiny tears that are too small to streak down his cheeks.

"Leaving?" He doesn't want to be alone. Connor is the only thing keeping him together. He's helped him so much and he hopes his eyes say as much.

"Yes. I've failed as District Leader. Our ties with the Church are tentative at best. But don't worry, you're not in trouble. I am - was - the leader here so I will shoulder the blame." What Kevin doesn't know is that Connor stepped down all by himself. He chose to leave Uganda and ultimately the Church. But Kevin doesn't know that and Connor hopes he never will.

"Where are they sending you?"

"New York. Elder Thomas will be sent back to his family, unless he decides to stay without me."

But that breaks rule #72. Kevin is confused and upset but he can't voice it. His vocal cords have mysteriously vanished from his throat and his stomach is turning.

"You'll get a new leader. It will be better. Trust me."

It's not better. Kevin waves goodbye and he even shakes the hand of Connor's replacement. But he's no longer Kevin Price, Super Mormon. His dreams get worse. He gets them every night now and he suddenly realizes why Connor never cried. He understands the pain that never goes away. He wonders why Connor was having the dreams in the first place. He lives for the day he and Arnold and Nabulungi can get back to the states and find Connor.

Kevin just can't figure out why.


End file.
